


The Boogeyman

by alyjude_sideburns



Series: The Healing Trilogy [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Drama, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story #2 in The Healing Trilogy, this follows "The Healer" with a fully recovered Blair who is back with Jim in Major Crime. Unfortunately, his past, in the form of Mickey, returns, threatening everything he and Jim now have.... </p>
<p>See end notes for more detailed warnings that apply to the entire trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boogeyman

 

 

_Summer - 1974_

The boy ran.

He should never have left, should have stayed because maybe at the campground, with others around, he'd have been safe. But his fear outweighed reason - so he ran.

He was small, so his little legs couldn't take him far or fast, but he could duck under and scramble through and hop over. He could leave the path, skirt around boulders and squeeze through narrow openings. So maybe he wouldn't be found. This time.

Why had his mommy insisted he go? Why couldn't she see that he hadn't wanted to go camping - at least not without her along to protect him.

He wanted his mommy so much.

He stumbled over a root which caused him to tumble head over heels, landing hard after rolling down a small incline, which, looking back, seemed huge to him.

Stunned and panting hard, he decided to stay on the ground for a minute, catch his breath, maybe. He looked upward - at the beautiful sky peeking at him through the tall evergreens; it's pure, deep blue color, along with yellow streaks of light passing through the branches, cheering and calming him.

He supposed he should get up, but he didn't. As his breathing slowed, small tears ran down his cheeks.

***

The tall teenager allowed himself to drift away from the other hikers in an effort to find some solitude. As the other teens moved further away, as the distance between them and him grew, he soon found himself alone.

He cocked his head, wasn't surprised that even though he could no longer see them, he could hear their babbling, so he slowed a bit more until the chatter faded away to a minor buzz. He took stock of his surroundings, sure that he knew the way back to camp and, satisfied that getting lost was not an obstacle to his desire for peace and quiet, he moved off into the woods.

For over thirty minutes, the tall, good-looking teen walked, happy in his aloneness. His light blue eyes took in everything around him, watched the jays fly overhead before landing in the trees to chitter, argue and pick at each other before swooping down and back up again, to once again enter the fray. He felt the gentle breeze of the afternoon, watched as it moved through leaves, and noted how the colors of each leaf changed as it was exposed to varying degrees of sunlight. Immersed in nature, his spirit calmed and a smile of true appreciation spread across his handsome face.

Maybe he was glad he'd agreed to summer camp after all. There was no Stephen to watch over and no father to ruin a good moment - there was only the forest and himself, when he could sneak away.

Summer camp - for a teenager - could be heaven or hell - and right now, for fifteen-year old Jimmy Ellison, it was definitely heaven.

Of course, it was heaven because he didn't do what the others did. He avoided the parties, watched from a distance as they played their practical jokes and pranks on each other, sat quietly but smiling during the 'cabin wars', but he didn't get involved. He enjoyed the clever tricks, like the moving of bunks and belongings from one cabin to another so the hapless inhabitants would be, after a hard day of sports, thoroughly confused upon entering not their own cabins - but someone else's altogether.

Then there were the lovely gifts left hidden for fellow cabin mates...like molasses in the bed or salt, liberally sprinkled on sheets, or the harmless but fierce looking snake hidden under a pillow or in a boot. Or the best prank of all for the boys: stealing into one of the girls cabins, choosing the one with the longest hair and then quietly tying the pigtails to the bunk and waiting until morning to be delightedly awakened by the screaming.

Yeah, summer camp was fun for Jimmy, but it was moments like this, alone and hiking, that he cherished the most. These quiet times when he would experiment, when there was no one to notice, to chastise when he tried to see as far as he could, or to hear.

Jimmy came to a sudden stop as his hearing picked up something out of the ordinary. He strained, trying to focus in, to pinpoint the one sound among all the others. Damn, this was hard. Why was he even bothering - it was freakish. But something told him that this sound...this one needed to be isolated and identified.

Crying? Was that it? A small child crying and maybe...lost?

He sped up then and eventually broke into a run as he followed the sound, changed directions as the crying faded but then grew strong again and he was close, really close, almost there.

***

The small boy finally rolled over and got shakily to his feet. He looked around and heard a familiar sound off to his right - a wonderful sound. Grinning, he headed off toward what he knew had to be the river.

After only a few minutes he found himself standing just above the water and, in spite of his fear, grinned again. The water was so nice and cool and he was so dirty and hot. He hurried down the short incline to the river's edge and, kneeling down, cupped his hands together and scooped up the delicious water and drank. Then he repeated the process and drank until his thirst was quenched. But he was still hot, so he cupped again and splashed himself, throwing the water with abandon, shaking his short curls and giggling as the beads of water flew around him.

He suddenly realized how hot his feet were, so he plopped down on his butt and clumsily pulled off his tennis shoes, tossing them recklessly over his shoulders and followed them with his socks. Barefoot now, he got back up and waded into the cool water, just up to his ankles. He dug his toes into the soft mud, a few smooth, round pebbles adding to the wonderful sensation.

For a moment, he felt safe. For a moment, he forgot. He happily looked around for his mother, even started to call out for her - before clamping a hand over his mouth as he remembered.  
No mommy. Only icky Mickey. His face crumbled, the tears came again, and he promptly sat down in the water and sobbed.

He wasn't crying because he was afraid - but because he didn't understand. He didn't understand why the man who was going to be his daddy always wanted to hurt him, why he hated him. After all, he was just a little boy and that wasn't really his fault. If he were bigger, he would leave, like Mickey kept saying. He would leave his mommy, let her be happy with Mickey, but...he still didn't understand the why of it. Mommy loved him, didn't she? Didn't she want him to stay?

Maybe not - maybe Mickey was right. His shoulders began to heave, the sobs racking his small body until a hand on his shoulder and a gruff but oddly gentle voice got his attention.

"Hey, kid, you lost?"

***

Jimmy broke through the trees and there, ahead of him, was the river. He looked to his right, where the muffled sound of sobbing was coming from, and spotted a small boy. He looked to be about four or so with brown curly hair - and he was sitting in the river, sobbing.

Not wanting to frighten him too much, he approached slowly, quietly. He waded in until he was behind him and then gently placed his hand on the boy's trembling shoulder.

"Hey, kid, you lost?"

The child didn't jump or panic, which impressed Jimmy, who gave a small, inward smile at the tyke's courage. The boy turned to look up at him with a dirt-smudged face that was now tear-streaked as well. He shook his curly head and Jimmy, puzzled, asked, "You're sure you're not lost? You know where your mommy is?"

The damp curls bounced as the child nodded. "she's in 'frisco."

"Frisco? You mean, San Francisco?"

"yes."

"Are you at my camp? Camp Wattachuka?"

A small frown knitted tiny eyebrows together as the child puzzled this out - but finally he shook his again. "no. mickey brought me camping."

Jimmy held out his hand, hoping the little boy would take it so that he could bring him out of the water because his slight body was shivering. He figured he'd better get him warmed up or he'd catch cold.

The child looked at the offered hand and slowly extended his own. Surprised at how easy it had been, Jimmy grasped it and pulled up gently. He guided him over to the grassy part of the river's edge and sat the boy down. He found the tennis shoes and socks, which were scattered all over the place, and went back to the boy. He sat down next to him and, without a single thought, took the child's right foot, slipped on a sock, then the shoe, then tied the laces before doing the same with the left foot. "There, doesn't that feel better? Warmer?"

The boy had been quiet during the whole process, small hitches in his breathing the only indication left of his crying. Now, at the question, he nodded and smiled shyly.

"So, you're here camping. Do you know where your camp is? How far away?"

The boy's light blue eyes shifted away, the smile fading as he slowly shook his head.

"So maybe you _are_ lost," Jimmy suggested gently.

"no. i ran away."

Ah, now that made sense. How many times had he entertained such a thought? Thinking that for now, he should change the subject, he asked another question. "What's your name?"

"blair." He looked up then, his expression clearly indicating that he expected some reciprocation.

Grinning, Jimmy stuck out his hand. "Well, hi, Blair. I'm Jimmy."

Blair put out his smaller hand and the two boys shook.

As Blair's hand slid out of Jimmy's, the older boy felt weirdly bereft. The boy's hand had felt good in his, so perfect. Which was silly really, cause the kid was just a baby.

"How old are you, Blair?"

"i'm big. five. last may."

"Wow, that _is_ big. I just turned fifteen last month."

"wow, that's really big." He managed to mimic Jimmy's wow perfectly.

"Yep. I'm almost old enough to go out on my own, only two or three more years. Is that what you're trying to do? Go out on your own?"

Blair looked away as his shoulders drooped. He nodded.

"That's pretty brave, but if you want my opinion, you might be a little young and, I suspect, maybe your mommy will be sad, too."

"i don't know. mickey says she'd be glad if i were gone."

Anger suddenly flared up in the teenager as he looked at the sweet boy in front of him. Just who the fuck was this Mickey guy, anyway? Maybe he'd better find out. "Who's Mickey? Your older brother, maybe?"

Blair shook his head. "my almost daddy. but i don't want him to be...i spill too much."

Unsure of what spilling had to do with Mickey being his dad, Jim said, "Well, I'm fifteen and I still spill, but what does that have to do with someone becoming your daddy?"

"he doesn't like it when i spill, drop, play or read."

A horrible suspicion was forming in Jimmy's brain, a suspicion that left him cold. "Blair," he asked cautiously, "What does this Mickey do when you - spill?"

"gets angry, hits me. yells."

"Does he spank you?"

Blair looked up again, his expression reflecting the fact that the word spanking might be new to him. He appeared to give it some thought before saying, "i don't think so. i think i was spanked once - on my butt - by my aunt. but it didn't really hurt and she cried more than me. i said a bad word and threw something at a bad boy who said my mommy was...well, it wasn't nice." Blair punctuated that statement with a fierce nod of his head.

Okay, this kid was certainly different. "So, he doesn't spank you. He hits you. Does he use something other than his hand?"

Blair's head bobbed up and down and Jimmy waited patiently - and was soon rewarded as Blair said, "he used a flapper thing once - and his belt - and the broom - and the wooden spoon. that one really hurt."

"Flapper thing?"

"pancakes?"

"Ah, spatula."

"yes, spat-chula."

To be suddenly confronted with what sounded like child abuse was a heavy load for anyone, but a fifteen-year old? On the other hand, Jimmy didn't think he was exactly normal. He felt a fierce protectiveness for this small child - and yeah, it surprised him a little. But he also felt anger and...even hate...for this Mickey. He wanted to hit him, hurt him the way he hurt Blair, but that wasn't an option.

"Blair, what are you planning to do? Or go?"

"i don't know. but i spilled and he was mad and i was afraid, really afraid this time. mommy isn't here at all." Then he smiled brilliantly. "maybe i could go with you?"

"I don't know - I still think your mommy would be sad."

"maybe."

He cocked his head, a new thought coming. "Blair, does she know Mickey hits you?"

"no. he made me promise, said...he just made me promise."

Fuck. God damn the man.

"Okay, Blair, look, were there other campers near where you and Mickey camped?"

Blair nodded.

"Okay, then. I'm going to take you to a couple of sites I know - we need to get you safe before dark. You with me, Chief?"

Blair's face scrunched up again, but this time in thought. He tilted his head and looked seriously at the teen in front of him...then held out his hand expectantly.

Jimmy released the breath he'd been holding, took Blair's hand again, and they got up.

"i like being called chief." Then Blair put his hand flat against his mouth and, patting his lips gently, he made what he supposed were Indian sounds.

Jimmy Ellison smiled down at his new charge - then put his hand to his lips and followed suit. When he was done, he said, "As of now, you're Chief Curly Head and I'm one of your Indian warriors who must protect you and the tribe, okay?"

Blair stuck out his chin stubbornly. "chief curly head? i don't think so. chief big elk, i'm chief big elk. who ever heard of a chief called curly head?" He snorted.

Biting back his laughter, Jim nodded. "Right. Chief Big Elk. What's my Indian name?"

"brave tall trees."

"Brave Tall Trees…yeah, I like that. Well, Chief, let's hit the dusty trail before we're stalked by the lions, tigers and bears."

Blair giggled happily at that and went to great lengths to explain that they wouldn't find lions or tigers, except mountain lions, maybe, but they would find bears, but that he was certain his brave warrior would be able to fight off any beast.

The two boys walked off, hand in hand, moving downstream, toward camps and people, the smaller boy bouncing and chattering, the taller boy nodding as he smiled indulgently.

***

As they walked, Jimmy learned that if Blair didn't like a fairy tale or some other children's story, he simply re-wrote it, which meant that so far, Jimmy had heard Blair's version of Little Red Riding Hood where the wolf was the good guy and it was the hunter who was bad. Then there was Snow White where the evil Step-mother had become an evil Step-father and Snow woke herself up and kicked her Step-fathers butt all the way into another kingdom.

And finally, there was Rumpelstiltskin, which sent Jimmy off into gales of laughter because it seemed old Rumple ended up looking exactly like Blair and of course, was the hero of the story. He saved the King from the awful woman who really just wanted his fortune.

Oh, and there was Superman. At least Superman was a real hero, but in Blair's mind, it was Jimmy Olsen that Superman really relied on, and it was Jimmy who often saved Superman from Kryptonite and evil-doers everywhere. This set Jimmy off again, but this time, his laughter left Blair standing in front him looking hurt. So Jimmy ruffled his hair and said, "Hey, it's okay. I think you're absolutely right. Superman definitely needs Olsen - I just never looked at it that way before."

Blair's face split into a gorgeous the-sun-is-out kind of smile, nodded contentedly and they'd continued on, hands still entwined, arms swinging in tune to Blair's bounce.

***

The first camping site yielded nothing for Blair - but it served to make Jimmy wonder at the wisdom of trying to find 'Mickey'. Upon entering the first site, Blair looked around, his little heart beating so fast that Jimmy could hardly keep count. Eventually though, when Blair didn't recognize anyone or anything, and they moved on, Blair's heart had calmed.

The second campsite was bustling with panicked activity as a young, slender, red-haired girl who looked as though she could only be a few years older than Jimmy, ran around, yanking on peoples shirts. It was obvious she was looking for someone and, when Jimmy heard her ask, "Blair?" - he figured they were in the right place.

He knelt down in front of his companion and asked, "Does your mommy have red hair?"

At Blair's happy nod, Jimmy straightened and led him further into camp - just as the young woman spotted them.

"Blair!"

She ran toward them and, grinning, Blair pulled away from Jimmy and ran into his mother's outstretched arms so hard, he nearly knocked her over.

Watching the reunion, Jimmy was glad he'd found the right camp, happy Blair's mother had shown up - but he was unaccountably sad as well. Couldn't be because he knew he'd never see the child again - after all, he was a baby. On the other hand - Jimmy could admit, at least to himself, that he'd had a good time in the company of the five-year old. He could also admit that he'd never been so comfortable, so free, so - him.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder at the freedom of the forest behind him, but it wasn't time to disappear just yet. No, first he had to know more about this Mickey guy - that had been his plan - if it could be called a plan - all along. Check the guy out and if he didn't like what he saw....

"Oh, god, Blair, I can't believe it...you're here, you're okay." Blair's mother kissed him as she lifted him up, squeezed him and then lovingly brushed the dampened curls back from his face. Blair tucked his head under her chin, wrapped his arms around her neck and squeezed hard. They were both crying and Jimmy felt tears burning behind his eyes, but swallowed hard and blinked them back. After all, he was fifteen.

A man, maybe ten years older than Blair's mother, run up to them at that moment - and Jimmy was pretty certain he was looking at Mickey.

"Thank God he's okay. Didn't I tell you, Naomi? Didn't I? He just ran off to play."

Yep, the infamous Mickey.

The man was tall, about 6'2, with short, black hair and a goatee. He moved with easy grace and was now wrapping his arms around both Naomi and Blair - who, Jimmy noticed, had looked up at Mickey's voice and just as quickly buried his head in his mother's neck. Jimmy was about to step forward, to tell Naomi just what a jerk Mickey was, when the big man spoke again.

"I'm so sorry, Blair, I know I shouldn't have been mad at you. Is that why you went off to play without telling me?" He ruffled Blair's curls and added sadly, "I know it's my fault. I've been so worried about my job, see? And I got angry and took it out on you. Can you ever forgive me?"

Jimmy watched as Naomi lifted Blair's head up by his chin so she could look him in the eyes, smiled reassuringly, and whispered sweetly, "Is that why you went off? Because Mickey yelled at you? Oh, honey, it's okay, everything is fine now, Mickey got his job back and we're going home now. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Okay, so that explained a lot, he supposed. Blair didn't really need his protection because it had been a misunderstanding. He slowly began to back up, before anyone noticed him and, in seconds, had melted into the forest.

***

Blair continued to hide from Mickey but he did turn his head just enough to see Jimmy - only - no Jimmy. Now there was only empty space where his Superman had stood, just moments before. "jimmy," he said, new tears forming.

"What honey? Who's Jimmy?"

Blair, eyes on the forest, answered softly, "he found me. he's big, fifteen. now he's gone."

Mickey looked around for a teenager and, even as he wondered how much Blair might have told him, was relieved to see that he - whoever he was - had left. He smiled and reached out to Blair. "A teenager would hardly want to spend any more time than necessary with a child. Obviously once he saw you were safe, with us, he simply went back to his family or camp or whatever."

Blair dropped his head onto his mother's shoulder as the truth of Mickey's words penetrated. Of course he'd want to go back to camp - probably hadn't believed Blair anyway. The tears stopped as Blair waited, tired and exhausted, in his mother's arms. Finally, they all headed back to the tent Mickey had put up and, while they packed, he sat on the cot - just watching.

For Naomi, while relieved that she had her son back, she couldn't help the small knot of worry left behind. He was so quiet now - too quiet. Then she realized, as they started packing the car, that he must have been lost quite awhile before being found by the disappearing teen. That had to have been scary, so maybe this aftermath was natural, but damn, she wasn't going to let him out of her site again. Period.

An hour later, they piled into the old VW wagon and headed back to San Francisco.

Jimmy watched them leave from his hiding spot behind a tree. He watched Blair's face, pressed against the back window, long after anyone else could have seen it.

***

_Present day -_

Jim woke feeling lost - and as if he'd done something wrong - but didn't have a clue what it could have been. And damn it, he'd felt so good three hours ago, when he'd first awakened.

A rumbling noise from his right alerted him to the fact that his bedmate was waking up. Jim rolled over, prepared to kiss him good morning, but, judging from the way his body was jerking and the frown on his face, Blair was in the middle of a not-so-nice dream. Jim reached over and lightly stroked his lover's bare arm. Blair, still asleep, nevertheless swatted his hand away.

"Come on, Chief, wake up," he whispered.

"Huh? Wha'?"

"You're dreaming, Chief. Come on, wake up."

Blair turned onto his back and rubbed his hand over his jaw as he said, "Dreaming? More like a nightmare." He sat up, yawned, pushed his pillows up and, after resting back against them, added, "Funny - I know it was awful, but I can't remember what I was dreaming about."

Jim propped his head on his hand and contemplated the man next to him. How the hell did he manage to look so sexy in the morning? His hair was a wild mess; eyes, sleepy; face rough with stubble, and yet, he was beautiful. Even now, clearly disturbed by the dream, lines of thought marring his forehead, he could set Jim's heart racing - not to mention other parts of his body. But his concern overrode any other desire. Running his hand up Blair's arm, he asked, "What do you remember?"

"Maybe...running? Yeah, I was running."

"Away or to?"

Blair thought about that for a moment, then shrugged, "Both? Weird, uh? It felt like I was running from something but also to it."

Smiling, Jim said, "And here I thought once we started occupying the same bed, all our dreams would be perfect. Like lots of hot, satisfying sex on hot, warm beaches."

Blair snorted and then gave Jim a playful punch in the arm. "Trust me, I have the hot sex dreams, don't worry about that. In fact, I often find myself saying, as I approach this haven of unrestrained sexual pleasure that is your bed, 'My, granny, what a big--'"

He didn't have a chance to finish thanks to Jim's hand against his mouth - but he still managed to laugh, albeit a smothered laughter.

Jim quickly replaced his hand with his lips and, as the kiss deepened, he had the vague thought that he should remember something too - something about Little Red Riding Hood. But, between thinking that was ridiculous and Blair's hand, which was now slipping under the elastic band of his shorts...Little Red Riding Hood and a wolf went bye-bye.

***

"Oh, man, I knew I should have had breakfast," Blair moaned, his stomach quickly adding its two cents with a loud rumbling noise.

Jim glanced away from the traffic ahead long enough to grin and ask, "Want me to stop? Joe's is just up around the corner?"

"Do we have time?"

"You can still ask that of me, Detective Always-add-extra-time Ellison?"

"Right, we have time. So stop. I don't want to embarrass myself."

Jim chuckled as he pulled into the driveway that belonged to Joe's Diner. Almost before the truck was in park, Blair was out and racing inside.

While waiting, Jim thought back on the last six - and pretty damn good - months. He and Blair had finally become real partners, in every sense of the word, which alone would have made everything perfect, but their new life had followed on the heels of a terrible incident, one that left three of their friends dead and an injured Blair with the mind of his five-year old self.

A miracle - Jim's word for it, not the doctors who'd chalked it up to the removal of a bone splinter - had restored Blair to his real self and, somehow, Major Crime had survived stronger than ever. He remembered being so worried about having Blair as his partner on the job - worried about protecting him, no longer being able to tell him to stay behind. Seemed silly now - Blair had been a true partner even before becoming official.

He smiled as he watched his partner push through the doors of the diner, hair flying behind him as he rushed back to the truck, a brown bag clutched tightly in his hand. He pulled the truck door open and hopped inside and, as Jim started up the engine, Blair opened the bag, pulled out a sandwich, unwrapped it and took a huge bite.

"Guess you really were hungry."

"Mmmph."

"Thought so. Of course, I just realized that Luis will probably have tons of food like enchiladas, carne asada, carnitas, tortillas...."

Blair stopped chewing. Swallowed. "You shit."

"...and flan."

"You double shit."

Jim nodded happily. "Guess now there'll be that much more for me."

Blair re-wrapped the breakfast sandwich, tucked it back into the brown bag and then stored carefully under the seat where he secretly hoped it would rot and send Jim into a senses tailspin. He deserved it. As he wiped his mouth, he threw down the gauntlet. "That's what you think. You'll be lucky to grab one taco before I eat everything in sight."

"You're on, Chief. Gee, imagine it, two detectives - two mature men - acting like pigs at a celebration party."

"Oink-oink."

They both erupted in laughter.

"I suppose we should show more decorum at the party," Blair said as his laughter slowed.

"Give me one good reason?"

"Mmm, we're celebrating Luis' escape from desk duty to active duty as of Monday? Oh, and the small matter of its also being a wedding with Luis and Barb renewing their vows."

"Doesn't mean we can't pig out - we'll just have to be more subtle," Jim said with a wicked grin.

They were on Luis' street, which was full of parked cars. So many, in fact, Blair's attention was drawn away from the idea of subtle pigging-out to the idea that maybe the vehicles were there for the party.

"Uhm, Jim? I thought this was going to be a small, quiet gathering?"

Looking around, Jim mused, "I'd say Tirza and some of her friends may have taken over the planning. We could be in for a humdinger of a party, Chief."

"This good be good. No need for subtle."

***

Jim had been right, Blair thought, this was one humdinger of a party. Even now, five hours later, it was still going strong, thanks in no small part to Tirza, since she and her friends had, indeed, taken over the planning. They'd hired a real band, made all the food themselves and decorated the back yard with multicolored streamers, balloons, flowers and cut-outs of cupids and hearts, creating a dreamy and surreal environment.

He glanced over at his partner, who was standing with Joel and Martin Regan, all three laughing, beers in their hands. Blair was glad now that he'd decided to stick with the punch, which allowed Jim to really enjoy himself and unwind without worrying about driving home.

Blair then turned his attention to the three teen-aged girls who, just moments ago had surrounded him. He smiled and said, "Excuse me a minute - I need to go check on something." He got three cute little moues for his excuse, but they let him go, thank God. He wasn't used to such adoring looks from anyone other than Jim. It was kind of...off-putting.

He made his way through the crowd toward Jim and, as he did, he grabbed another glass of punch from the nearby table. He was just taking a sip when a bit of their conversation floated back to him.

"We're just plain lucky Simon had that run in with the Commissioner or we'd be doing the trumped-up guard duty."

"Joel, do you really think it's because of an argument between Simon and Webster?" Jim asked.

Martin jumped in with the answer. "A big Senatorial candidate comes to Cascade and the Detective of the Year, two years running, isn't slated for the duty? Sounds suspicious to me. As I hear it, this Michael Goddard guy is a real up-and-comer."

_Michael Goddard_.

The name reverberated within his skull, bouncing around and leaving Blair reeling. He gasped as breathing became difficult and, as if from a distance, watched the glass fall from his hand to land on the patio - and shatter.

As Jim, Joel and Martin turned at the sound, Blair managed to croak out one word.

"Mickey."

***

_"Mickey."_

With that simple word, Jim had what could only be called an out-of-body experience. He seemed to float backward in time, stopping briefly to the moment Blair shared the memory of Deva coming to life, then further back to the five-year old version of Blair telling him about Mickey - but then the journey sped up and he was moving faster and faster, traveling further back until he was hovering over two boys in a forest, hand-in-hand and walking a canopy of green....

Jim slammed back to the present and Joel shoved past him, followed by Martin. He shook his head, as if trying to come out of some fog - and found his friends kneeling down next to Blair - who had somehow ended up sitting on the patio floor. He was staring at something only he could see, mouth open, but no words coming out. Someone rushed forward with a glass of water and, grateful, Joel took it and placed it in Blair's hand. Blair stared at it a moment and then seemed to realize where he was. He accepted it and gulped greedily before smiling wanly. He let them help him up, but once on his feet, shook off any further help. Finally able to move himself, Jim stepped to Blair's side. He was still feeling dazed, wondering if what he'd just experienced was real or too much beer.

Barbara Maldonado rushed over, took Blair's arm and, with gentle words, guided him inside and out of the sun. Jim stumbled behind them, trying to understand what had just happened.  
***

"Blair, honey, sit down I'll get you some more water, with ice. I'm sure it's just the heat."

Blair did as she asked. It was automatic because he'd stopped feeling several minutes ago. He still couldn't believe he'd heard that name.

Michael Goddard.

Mickey.

He'd almost become Blair Goddard because Naomi had come so close to marrying him after their return from...where had they been? Oh, yeah, a camping trip - that was it. Mickey told her he'd managed to get his job back, which made him happy, which should have made things safe for Blair. Should have.

They'd gotten home and, for awhile, things had been better, but then Mickey lost his job again so Naomi had taken another one herself. Yeah, Blair remembered that because Mickey had become his sitter. Not the ideal situation since Blair knew all Mickey wanted was Blair - gone.

Then one day, Naomi had come home early, heard him screaming, rushed into his bedroom - and found Mickey on his knees and pulling him, struggling, out from under the bed. She'd grabbed the broom and....

...and Michael Goddard was history.

A glass floated in front of his face and he realized that Barbara was back with the water. He took it and drank as she instructed. Of course, he'd probably have walked off a cliff if someone had suggested it.

He felt a hand, unsteady, on his shoulder, and he looked up and into frightened, worried - and guilty - blue eyes.

Jim.

Oddly enough, his partner looked worse than he felt. He placed his other hand over Jim's and asked, "You okay, man?"

Jim blinked at him, obviously surprised by the question, but he nodded. "How 'bout you?"

Blair nodded because he had no choice - too many people were watching them. "Yeah, but maybe...maybe we should head home?"

In answer to the suggestion, Jim dug into his pocket, pulled out the keys and held them out. "You up to driving, Chief?"

One of them had to be. Blair took the keys.

To the worried and concerned looks from their friends, they made their apologies, said their goodbyes and were finally in the truck, windows open, the breeze working like a tonic for both of them as Blair drove back home.

Neither spoke during the twenty minute trip, each deep in their own thoughts. Jim was slumped against the door, head resting against the cool metal while Blair gripped the wheel so fiercely, his nails were digging into his skin.

Not the most pleasant drives home they'd ever had, Blair mused.

Not by a long shot.

***

Blair pushed their door open and, with Jim right behind him, stepped inside. He dropped the keys onto the table but when they bounced off and landed on the floor, neither of them bothered to retrieve them.

Jim moved almost painfully into the living room, while Blair went directly to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. He joined Jim, but chose the chair instead of the couch. He sat down, set one unopened beer on the table in front of him and, after opening the other, he took a huge gulp.

Looking at the second beer, Jim shook his head. "None for me, Chief. I think I've had enough."

"Actually," Blair said after swallowing the last drop. "They're both mine." He replaced the now empty bottle and took up the other one. Three swigs later, he'd downed the whole thing and was on his way back to the kitchen where he pulled out two more.

"Judging by your sudden need for fortitude in the form of beer, I'm guessing Michael Goddard is Mickey," Jim said dully from the couch.

"Maybe. Could be. Maybe just similar names." He took another swig as he leaned against the counter. "By the way, what the fuck happened to you back at the party?"

"Me? You're the one who decided to take a vacation in the middle of the patio."

Blair didn't say anything for a few minutes, but eventually he dumped the three empty bottles in the recycle bin, took the fourth and, without another word, headed upstairs.

Jim followed his progress with his eyes and, as Blair hit the top step and moved out of visual range, he used his hearing.

He heard Blair's sigh, the bottle as it was set on the nightstand, the rustling of discarded clothing and, finally, the sheets as they were pulled back and the springs as they creaked under Blair's weight.

It was a little after seven, the sun just now disappearing below the horizon, but Blair had just slipped into bed. Jim figured it was a fine idea, so he locked up, finally picked up the keys and put them where they belonged and then made his way upstairs. He assumed that any talking about Mickey would have to be started by him. And he supposed he'd have to share what he'd remembered earlier. It wouldn't kill either of them - but it sure would hurt the man he loved once Blair discovered that Jim could have saved him all those years ago.

***

Jim took off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Then he added his jeans, shoes and socks to the pile before walking to his side of the bed. He crawled in beside Blair, beside the man he loved more than anything in the world - the man he might now lose, if his memories were accurate.

Blair wasn't even pretending to sleep, he was just staring up at the skylight, so Jim whispered pleadingly, "Let me hold you, please?"

"Look, we both know what's wrong with me, but I'm in the dark about you." With that, Blair turned slightly and...pulled Jim into his arms.

Jim resisted at first, but finally gave in and rested his head over Blair's heart.

After several minutes of Blair stroking Jim's hair and dropping the occasional kiss on top of his head, Jim asked, "Did you and Mickey ever go camping?"

Blair stopped massaging Jim's scalp as he answered thoughtfully, "I...yes. Odd you should ask - I was thinking about it earlier. I don't remember much - other than things started really going downhill when we got home."

"You think the trip might have been...summer of '74...in Yosemite, California?"

Curious, Blair answered, "California, definitely...and I remember a long drive, so yeah, maybe Yosemite. Why?"

"Because...I was in Yosemite in '74. The trip was a birthday present. Summer camp. My first time away from Washington."

Jim in Yosemite in 1974? Blair closed his eyes and tried to think back on the trip - even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. There was something there...something...Superman?

"Superman," he said out loud.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Superman and Jimmy Olsen. Jimmy was Sup's protector," he added as if reciting it from somewhere.

"Funny, I always thought so too, but no one agreed with me. But then, heck, I was a five-year old weirdo."

Blair was expecting a teasing retort to that, but instead, Jim said, "Rumpelstiltskin and saving the king."

"Jim?"

Jim shifted restlessly as he said, "I met a little boy while I was there. He'd run away from camp and I found him sitting in the river - crying. He was pretty damn cute, had all this curly hair and the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He told me he was five and when we started talking about his favorite stories, well, he kind of liked adding his own endings. Like how Snow White hadn't been kissed by a prince at all, but awakened herself and then kicked her evil step-father's butt--"

"All the way into another kingdom," Blair finished for him.

"Yeah, all the way into another kingdom. Then, do you know what I did? I took that small, vulnerable little boy back to camp, to where his mother was frantically looking for him - and I left him there - with her and a man named Mickey. To the man who'd hurt him and would continue to hurt him. I did that. Gave him back and didn't say a word. Not even goodbye."

Jim lifted his head, then pushed himself up, rolled over and sat up, legs over the edge of the bed, his back to Blair. "And I watched as their car pulled away - it was an old beat up VW van - but I could see his face, plastered up against the window, and I kept watching, for miles."

"Superman," Blair whispered. "I turned to look at you - but you were gone and Mickey said that a teenager wouldn't want to spend time with me, a little kid...and you were gone."

Jim turned around at the sound of Blair's voice, which sounded so lost, vulnerable and young. Blair looking at the stuffed black jag, sitting in its place of honor, on the corner of the dresser.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't know. I thought, when he talked about the job, that he was fine, and Naomi seemed to understand, so I just left. I mean, I heard them say they were going to pack up and head home...and I sure as hell didn't want you to, I wanted you to stay...but--"

Blair looked at Jim then and his eyes widened. "My God, it was you. You found me, took care of me, helped me." Excited now, he sat up, got on his hands and knees, crawled to Jim's side and sat beside him. "Don't you get it? We knew each other, Jim. We knew each other before. My God, you even met Naomi before. Only, of course, she never really saw you, really."

Then Jim's words, the way he'd said them, hit Blair and he heard the guilt. Shaking his head in disgust, he reached out but Jim pulled away and got to his feet.

Pacing, he said, "Yeah, Sandburg, we met and I blew it. I gave you back to him, to that dickhead."

"Yeah, you're bad, all right," Blair said dryly. "Maybe I should cut off your hand in penance? Some tribes will do that for a friend, to assuage their guilt. Would you like that? We could go downstairs right now, I could get out the big meat cleaver and," he made a chopping motion with his arm, "Wham! No more hand, no more guilt." He cocked his head. "So what do you say? Shall we?"

Jim stopped pacing to look at his partner as if he were some strange bug or a creature from outer space - which, with Blair, was all together possible. "Are you nuts?"

"Actually, since you've decided to take on the guilt of child abuser, I'm thinking I should nominate you for the Nut of the Month Award, you asshole."

"Wait, are you denying that I turned you over to him? Didn't I do that? Knowing he'd hurt you?"

Blair jumped out of bed, grabbed Jim's right hand, and yanked him toward the stairs. "You're right. We're going to chop off both hands. That'll definitely make me feel better."

Jim pulled back. "You are the weirdest man I've ever known, Sandburg. Just what planet are you from, anyway?"

"Earth, idiot. And yeah, I'm weird and proud of it. Now sit your ass down and stop feeling sorry for yourself." With that, he pushed Jim backward - maybe a bit harder than strictly necessary. "Now you listen to me, Jim. You were fifteen. _Fifteen_. And Mickey was fine and you had no reason to believe otherwise and every right to think that a kid was just exaggerating."

"You? Exaggerate?" Jim asked with the first trace of humor in his voice.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Besides, I never exaggerate - I obfuscate, remember?" At Jim's 'you're going to hell' look, he shrugged. "Okay, so maybe I exaggerate - occasionally - when describing the size of your penis to our friends. Maybe."

"Bastard. And you don't - do you?"

"What? Exaggerate? Or describe your penis to my friends?"

"Blair Sandburg, so help me...."

"There, feeling better now? See how misdirection works? It's kind of like stepping on a man's toe to make him forget his headache. I just threatened your masculinity to help you forget your misplaced guilt. Of course, as the male organ goes, yours is swell - really, one of the best. As for your guilt, however, well, your guilt trips are way bigger than your penis on its best day. Sure would be swell though, if we could just reverse that phenomenon. On the other hand, I wouldn't be able to sit down for a week."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I could accomplish the same thing with a simple spanking, jerk."

"So we're name-calling now, are we? And threatening kink? Who knew you were such a pervert."

"Blair, this is serious."

"No, no, it isn't. And if it's not serious to me, than it has no right being serious for you."

"Well, fuck, with that kind of logic, how can I argue?"

"Exactly. And besides, it's much more important to discover that we've met before. Way before. Now that's significant and pretty damn wonderful. So maybe that's what we need to talk about."

"And Michael Goddard?"

Blair's smile faded. "No, we never need to discuss him. Ever."

"Wrong. We do - because he's here, in Cascade."

"Maybe he's here - and maybe this Michael Goddard is another Michael Goddard."

Jim got up, ran downstairs and, a few moments later, returned with the daily paper in his hand. He held it out. "Photograph, page three, I think. Let's settle this once and for all."

Blair stared at the paper as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike, but he took a deep breath, reached out, and took it. He fumbled through the pages until he reached the right page - and there, on the right hand side column, there he was. Older, clean-shaven now, but still handsome and smiling for the camera.

Below the photo, it said:

**"Michael Goddard, Washington State Democratic Senatorial candidate visits Cascade.**

**Mr. Goddard will address the Jewish Humanitarian League on Monday, September 15th at the Temple David Beth El on Woodcrest Ave. at 10:00 am. He will be accompanied by his wife, Clarissa and son, Michael Jr.**

**Mr. Goddard's plans also include attending a banquet on the evening of the sixteenth, given by the Mayor of Cascade, John Trumbull."**

It was Mickey.

"It's him, isn't it, Chief?"

"Yes."

"So what do you want to do? How do you want to handle this?"

Blair tore his gaze from the photo to look up at Jim - and that's when Jim realized how badly Blair had wanted Michael Goddard to be anyone but Mickey.

Evidently denial wasn't only an Ellison trait.

Heart nearly breaking for Blair, Jim caught the paper just as it dropped from Blair's fingers. He set it down on the nightstand and then gently nudged Blair's legs apart so that he could step in between them. Blair didn't even ask, he just wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. as Blair moved in, his own arms wrapping around Jim's waist.

"I don't want to handle it," he whispered against Jim's skin.

Jim understood completely - but also knew that it would have to be handled. But it could wait because right now, the only person that mattered was Blair.

***

Jim dragged himself out of bed, wishing he felt more human. Blair was already downstairs, in the kitchen, which surprised Jim. He figured he'd have known instantly when Blair woke up. So much for senses on heightened alert. He scratched his scalp, got up, grabbed his robe, and headed down to the bathroom.

First things first and all.

As he relieved himself, he tried to think of all the possible ways to best handle the situation - even as he listened to Blair fixing breakfast. He sounded downright cheerful - but Jim knew it for what it was: denial.

Jim couldn't blame him. They were dealing with child abuse that was twenty-five years old. But even so, there was no way Jim could allow him to get away with it.

He took a quick shower, finished the rest of his morning ritual, and decided that taking the bull by the horns, meaning Blair, was the only way to deal. He walked into the kitchen, still damp from his shower. "Morning, Chief."

"One-eyed sandwiches on sourdough okay?"

"Perfect."

Jim took the plate Blair had just dished up, along with a glass of juice, and sat down. He waited for Blair to join him and, Blair seeing that he hadn't started to eat, said, "I already ate, Jim. You go ahead, I've got some errands to run."

"For instance?"

"Just - stuff. I'll be back in a couple of hours and then maybe we can go to that new sporting goods store we've been talking about."

No way was Jim going to let it go down this easy. "I take it all this 'ignoring the elephant in the living room' means you still haven't decided what to do?"

Blair stopped in the middle of slipping on his jacket to stare at Jim. Finally, with a sigh, he took it off, hung it back up, walked over to the table and sat down. He looked at Jim expectantly.

In spite of the fact that Blair looked anything like someone willing to actually deal, he still said, "I think you should confront him." He shrugged. "But that's just me."

"You're right - that's you. As for me, well, I'm not going to do anything because there's nothing to do. It's over and has been - for a quarter of a century."

No longer hungry in the slightest, Jim pushed his plate away. "Over? That man abused a child - you, by the way - and now he's running for office and you don't think there's anything to do?"

"You just said it all. A child. I was a child, one who'd never even had a voice raised in anger at him. Never had a hand raised in punishment by Naomi. Hell, in my whole childhood, the only spanking I received was from one of mom's friends whom I called an aunt."

"I know, you threw something at a boy who insulted your mother and your aunt cried more than you did after she spanked you."

Blair's face scrunched up in surprise. "Man, no wonder I've been such an expert on your repressions - turns out I'm a bit of a master at it myself."

Jim reached out and placed his hand over Blair's. "You told me about it in Yosemite and disclosed even more after your injury. What I don't get is how I didn't remember meeting you while I was living the five-year old version. And by the way, how does your mother never raising her voice at you have anything to do with Mickey?"

Blair sighed heavily as he played absently with the weaving on the placemat. "It's really almost funny, really," he finally said. "I mean, I've been yelled at more by Simon in the last three years than in my whole life...and that's the problem."

"You're losing me here, Chief."

"How do I know he really abused me? Sure, he yelled, got mad, spanked me. Happens every day, mothers, fathers, they spank, they yell. But it had never happened to me so how do I know how bad it really was? I was just a kid reacting to something he'd never dealt with before, see?"

"So you're saying that Mickey didn't hit you with wooden spoons, brooms, and spatulas?" At Blair's puzzled look, he explained, "You told me that too, in Yosemite. So did he? Hit you with those things?"

Blair frowned - but nodded - slowly.

"Don't tell you think that's normal, all right? Or maybe he only struck you on your butt, while clothed? Is that it?" When Blair didn't immediately respond, Jim said, "Okay, so tell me - where did he strike you?"

"Legs, arms...and back."

"So basically any place he could reach, right?"

Blair nodded.

"And just what dastardly deed did you commit to warrant such punishment? Steal? Lie? Kill someone?"

"I...tripped once. Broke his sailing trophy."

"You tripped," Jim stated with exaggerated disbelief. "My God, but you were a devious child - and evil. Imagine going to such extremes as...tripping. Okay, so that was definitely bad - but what might your worst offense have been?"

Blair stood abruptly, pushing hard from the table, but Jim stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Enough, Jim," Blair hissed out, "Enough."

"No, not enough. Not nearly enough. What - was - your - biggest - crime?"

Blair looked back at Jim, emotions warring in his eyes, each battling for dominance. In the end, there appeared to be a complete surrender as he slumped back into the chair, head down. "I got sick and mom had to cancel the wedding."

"Wedding?" Jim exclaimed as he retook his seat. "She was actually going to marry him?"

Blair nodded. "It wasn't long after we got home from the trip, I think. I was going to carry the ring, I remember that - but then I got the flu or something and started throwing up all over the place. Anyway, they had to postpone - and then he lost his job again...and Naomi went back to work - two jobs. One day, a few weeks later, he pulled off his belt, said it was my fault and that if they hadn't canceled the wedding, they'd have been on their honeymoon and he wouldn't have lost his job."

Blair's words were rushing out, tumbling over each other and Jim cringed at the desperation in his partner's voice but he didn't dare stop the flow of information.

"I remember that I couldn't get away in time and the belt came down on my back. His face was red and he was yelling so I put my hands over my ears and rolled up in a ball--"

Jim couldn't stand any more. He pulled Blair to his chest, awkward in the movement as he tried to soothe and comfort him. But Blair wasn't having any of it. He jerked away.

"No, ok-k-ay, I'm...o-kay."

"I know, I know you are, but surely you see that we have to do something about him? That it was abuse?"

Calming down a bit, Blair shook his head and said, "You told me once, on that stakeout, that you were sometimes afraid of your father's anger - afraid he'd kill you - so what do you want to do about that?"

"That's unfair because it's not the same thing. My father yelled, threatened, but he never touched me. Never. His anger was cold, sure, and he made me feel like shit sometimes, but he never touched me."

Blair gave him a small smile. "It is the same, Jim. Abuse is abuse whether verbal, mental or physical."

"Damn it, Blair, don't you dare make this about me. I'm not falling for it. Besides, we're talking about my father, something Mickey wasn't. And you damn well that all three of us are working hard to put the past behind us - thanks to you, by the way."

"Fine, so you're working through it. You going to report him? He's a famous man, wealthy, important in the community, you going to report him?"

"Man, you're a tough little shit, aren't you? It's just normal anger, still? Nothing to report, because it happens, because he was out of a job? So how long after the belt thing did Naomi catch him? How long before she caught him being 'just angry'? And what about Deva and the day Mickey showed up after Naomi took you away, moved away from him? What was he going to do? Just be a nice man who'd been hurt by a mean kid?"

"Your fucking sarcasm isn't appreciated."

"Neither are your fucking blinders. And if sarcasm gets you mad, then I can be the king of sarcasm. Now, how long after the belt incident did Naomi find out and finally do something?"

"I don't know, o-kay?"

"How long, Blair," Jim repeated.

"God, you're impossible."

"How - long?"

Blair threw up his arms. "I don't know, maybe a few days, or longer, but not much longer."

Blair was exasperated, impatient and getting angrier by the minute, but that just meant it was time to strike. "You told me you'd spilled some chocolate, which obviously made you a rotten, clumsy, little boy who spilled and then foolishly ran away when the nice man came after him with a broom. Did he get you with the broom? Did you get the punishment you deserved? For destroying life as we know it by spilling that glass? And maybe it was glass as opposed to plastic? Crystal instead of a jelly glass? That would make a difference, make the crime even more heinous, what with shards of glass and all--"

"Fuck you," Blair hissed out.

"You know, not long after I brought you home from the hospital, you dropped a mug. You'd decided to help me by fixing your own breakfast and making my coffee. But I interrupted you, scared you so you dropped the mug. Want me to describe your actions? How you cowered in the corner? How you begged me not to hurt you? Or maybe I should just remind you of how you reacted when Agent Lister blamed you for killing Beth, Peter and Brian. How you immediately tapped into all the guilt, all the fucking damage Michael-Fucking-Mickey Goddard did to you...or how--"

"God - Damn - you - to - hell."

"Not before Michael Goddard."

***

The rest of Sunday was spent in a kind of sullen silence, with both Jim and Blair too wrapped up in their different anger and fears to reach out and talk or to allow the other to help.

Jim's frustration was building to a point that he was contemplating acting on the issue himself, knowing full well what it could mean to their relationship, that it would be the worse type of breech of trust imaginable. On the other hand, the idea of someone like Goddard getting away with what he'd done and possibly having the power to make decisions that would affect the people of Washington - it was too much for him to ignore.

By Monday, the two men were exchanging nothing more than the necessary words that come with sharing space. Blair seemed to be on autopilot and it was taking all of Jim's will power to keep his rage in its cage.

But they were partners and crime didn't stop just because there was trouble in the Ellison-Sandburg home.

***

Simon stepped to his door to call Jim and Blair into his office - but what he saw of them in the bullpen halted his action. Not that the vision was new - it wasn't - but every so often, it could still astound him.

There was Blair, sitting on the edge of Jim's desk, jean-clad leg swinging with nervous energy as he talked with Henri Brown, his hands moving rapidly in the air in their aid as storytellers.

No, not new - but the holster and .38 special tucked snugly into the holster was. And of course, the official, shiny badge, secure in its leather holder hanging from Sandburg's belt.

That was the difference that still had the power to amaze Simon - that Blair Sandburg was a cop. A detective - a fact never brought home so clearly as when Simon could actually see the gun.

He gave himself a mental shake and barked out, "Sandburg, where's your partner?"

Blair turned toward him to answer, but at the same moment, Jim walked through the doors. Grinning, Blair jerked a thumb at him and said, "Gee, Simon, he's right here."

"Cute, Sandburg, cute. I need you both - now."

The door hadn't even closed behind them before Simon started talking. "I don't want any arguments about this, Jim. I'm warning you up front that it's not the best news, but I expect you to take it like a man."

He stared at his best detectives, each with almost the same expression on their faces: one raised eyebrow signifying total bewilderment and more than a little trepidation. He took a deep breath and said firmly, "You've been assigned the Goddard detail as of tonight. You'll take over at some political function that was just added to the calendar."

"No, Sir," Jim said simply.

Simon had been expecting expletives, anger and suggestions on where the Commissioner could stuff this detail. He'd been prepared for that - but not this...not this cold, simple refusal. He was so shocked that he reacted with his own version of controlled anger.

"Excuse me, Detective Ellison? Did you just tell me no?"

"Mickey."

That was all Jim needed to say and, with that one word, Blair turned around and walked out of the office - slamming the door behind him.

Simon thought he took Blair's action remarkably well as he asked, "What, he's a cop now, so he gets to slam the door?"

"Apparently."

"You've been teaching him all the wrong stuff."

"Apparently."

"Okay, enough with the witty repartee." He sat down on the edge of his desk, ignored the urge to take out his cigar and chew it to bits as he asked, wondering if he really wanted to know, "Care to expound on your single word reason for your refusal?"

"Mickey is Michael Goddard," Jim said, his eyes boring into Simon's.

Hiding his shock with practiced ease, Simon said simply, "So having my best team as his protection detail would definitely be out of the question." He indicated the room on the other side of the door. "And Blair is mad, why, exactly?"

"He doesn't want to do anything about Goddard and I do. He has some ridiculous notion that Goddard didn't really abuse him."

Simon got up and walked to the door. He twisted the blinds open and, after shoving both hands in his pockets, said quietly, "Maybe I should share his reaction in the hospital when I showed up and yelled?"

Jim joined him. Shook his head. "Won't work. As an expert on guilt, I can pretty much guarantee that's what we're really dealing with. That bastard did a pretty good job of convincing Blair believe that he deserved the abuse."

"No way. I can't buy that, not after spending so much time with him during his...you know. That Blair was a joy. He seemed supremely happy, comfortable and definitely safe. He didn't exhibit any of the signs of a child of abuse who believes he deserved it."

"Yeah, so why his refusal to act now?"

Simon glanced over at Jim and asked with an air of practicality, "What would you have him do, Jim? Arrest Goddard? You and I know that isn't possible - too much time, no proof, I could go on. So what, he should confront him?" Simon shook his head before looking back out the window. "Not Blair's style. Sure, he'll confront us and others - for others, but this is different." He rubbed at his jaw. "Maybe this time...you should let it go, for him. Because it's what he wants."

"Damn it, Simon, the bastard hurt Blair - hell, I think he tried to kill him. How do I let that go?"

"What do you mean, he may have tried to kill him?"

Jim turned from the door and indicated Simon's chair. "You might want to sit down for this one."

Not sure he wanted to hear - Simon nevertheless took his seat - and Jim told him about Yosemite.

When he was done, Simon finally took out his cigar. "Damn. You two actually met when you were kids?" Simon could only shake his head in wonder before asking, "But what does that have to do with the guy trying to kill Sandburg? I mean, it sounds as though the man was under some pressure and Blair ran before anything could happen. And don't jump the gun, I know the bastard abused him, but try to kill him?"

Deciding that maybe Simon might not be able to handle the truth about Deva and Mickey's final visit, Jim said, "So you think my instincts are wrong but I don't. That man hurt a child - abused him - and at the worst, wanted him dead. So how do I let that go?"

"That's the real problem, isn't it? How can you let it go, but it's not yours to hold or release - it's Blair's."

"Shit."

Simon jerked a thumb at the door. "Why don't you try to catch up with him while using one of Naomi's infamous mantras." And at Jim's puzzled frown, he added, "I'm letting go, I'm letting go?"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Right - and we can't forget detach with love."

"That about covers it." He got up. "Now I have to Joel and Martin that they just inherited your duty."

Jim grinned at that, but then, as he opened the door, Simon could hear his mutterings.

"I'm letting go, I'm letting go...."

When the door closed behind Jim, Simon sat down with a heavy heart. He picked up his cigar and, twirling it between his fingers, thought that letting go was easier said than done - especially if that which you were asked to release - was a monster.

***

It didn't take Jim long to find his partner - and no senses required. Blair was where he always could be found when troubled. The roof.

On the elevator ride up, Jim practiced his speech, knowing that an apology was due, that Simon was right, he'd been projecting his own needs onto Blair.

Projecting his need for revenge.

He also found himself asking questions that he doubted he'd ever have any answers to - like how had Naomi really handled the violence directed at her son by the man she must have loved? She'd certainly swept him out of her life fast enough, making Blair's safety her top priority, so Jim couldn't fault her for that. But how much had she really known? And why had Blair really run that day in Yosemite? And maybe the most important one - what would Goddard actually have done on the day he'd found them again - the day he'd confronted Blair alone?

What would have happened if Deva hadn't interfered?

The elevator pinged, signifying that it had reached the top floor. He stepped out, walked over the stairs that led to the roof and started up. When he reached the top and stepped out the door and onto the roof, he spotted Blair instantly. He was standing on the white square used for helicopter landings. The wind was blowing pretty good up here, so Jim knew Blair had to be cold.

"Chief?"

"Go away, Jim."

There'd been a time when Jim would have done just that - but those days were long gone.

"We need to talk about this - and yes - I know it's strange to hear me say that, but it's still true."

"I think you've made yourself pretty clear on how you feel, Jim. There really isn't anything left to be said - other than it wasn't your place to say anything to Simon about Goddard. We could talk about that."

"All right, so we head back to the loft, you get the meat cleaver and start chopping--"

"Jim? Shut up."

Jim shut up - but he also walked over to Blair, stood next to him. They remained that way for several minutes, the wind buffeting them, rushing through Blair's hair. Jim could feel the minute shivers running through his partner but he waited. Actually understood that this time, Blair needed to make the first move - be the first to speak.

Ten cold minutes later, he did.

"I don't know what was going through his mind - what insecurities he suffered. We're talking twenty-five years ago. He's undoubtedly a different man now. He certainly has a job. And okay, so mom caught him yelling at me and pulling me out from under the bed, and she whacked him. But how much did I overreact and blow out of proportion? And maybe the whole Deva thing was my imagination and none of it ever happened. It was just a kid and his invisible friend."

"Sandburg, you don't believe that for a second. Oh, you're trying, but you know it happened. But...if you want to drop it, I'll back you all the way, but don't ever doubt what happened or Deva - because when you do - it's like you're doubting us."

Blair turned then, to face Jim. He searched Jim's eyes - as if he could find the answers to all the questions in the world in Jim's gaze. He seemed to dive in deep, all the way to Jim's soul and, weirdly, Jim felt it, felt his partner move through him like a warm zephyr, touching down momentarily to absorb a part of Jim before moving on.

It felt so much like that day by the fountain - when he'd gone after Blair - brought him back....

A hand on his arm centered him and he heard Blair ask, "What should I do, Jim?"

The relief that flooded through him because of the absolute trust he now heard in Blair's voice left him weak in the knees. But he managed to say, "Maybe just see him. That's all. Just see him."

"All right."

The moment Blair agreed - the relief Jim had been feeling - disappeared.

***

Michael Goddard sat at the desk in his hotel suite, memorizing a speech, when his secretary, Margie Holder came up behind him.

"Mike, I hate to disturb you, but there's a Blair Sandburg on the phone? He says you know him. Do you want me to put him through?"

The name cut through Goddard like a knife.

_Blair Sandburg._

An anger he'd learned to control over the years, an anger rarely seen, but often felt, burned through him at the sound of that name.

Michael Goddard was a smart man who'd come far - and he'd done it by harnessing his destructive anger and utilizing it more efficiently. But now - one name could destroy him, his plans and his power base.

Eyes glittering dangerously, he ordered, "No, don't put him through. I knew his mother many years ago, a troubled woman with a troubled child. Tell him I'm in a meeting."

Nodding, she left the room.

Blair Sandburg.

He'd ruined his life once but never again.

He picked up the phone, punched in a number and, after two rings, said, "I have a special job for you. I need information on someone here in Cascade and I want it complete and fast. I need to know where he lives, works, how much money he has, who his friends are, any attachments, wives, children, hell, I want to know what kind of beer he drinks and how many times a day he uses the can. You got that? Good. Your usual fee? Fine - but I repeat, I want this now - is that a problem? No? Didn't think so."

He hung up and sat back in his chair. Time was not on his side, not here, not in Cascade. But he was good at making quick decisions regarding his future and this time would be no different. However - other than information gathering - which could be easily explained - any other action required would be taken care of personally. There would be no loose ends of any kind.

Michael Goddard took out his wallet - and from a hidden back slot, he withdrew a photograph.

Naomi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/winner_stories/pic/00001s39/)

His only true love and no longer in his life because of a bastard child.

Staring at the photo, he did a bit of math...Blair Sandburg would be about thirty now. Not so easy to be rid of - but then, he'd been impossible to remove when he was nothing but a child. The kid had lived a charmed existence, damn it.

On the other hand, Michael Goddard was older, sober, wiser...and had more resources at his command now. He'd have no problem this time. One way or the other.

***

Blair sat in the middle of his old bed, in his old room, and contemplated Deva, who was sitting in front of him.

Deva. His protector.

He tried to recall those early dreams about a jungle cat demanding that he find him, bring him home - that he would be protected - but all he remembered was feeling of safety. After they'd moved, he'd been unable to sleep well - he knew that much. He'd been afraid of every noise and shadow. Afraid that Mickey would somehow find them - find him. But then Naomi had brought Deva home - and his fears had disappeared.

But shouldn't he remember more? Shouldn't something so horrible be clearer to him? Instead, it was like looking into a cloudy glass of water. Memories floated close to the surface, but never close enough.

"Chief?"

He looked up to see Jim leaning against the doorframe, brow creased with worry. "Hey, man." He indicated Deva. "I was just thinking about jungle cats, so get that frown off that handsome face of yours."

That worked, the frown was replaced with a smile as Jim stepped inside.  
"Handsome, eh?"

"Very. You're one handsome stud. The perfect partner for me, Munchkin Man."

Jim crossed over to the bed and sat down. He reached out and started to absently scratch behind Deva's ear. "Make that Studly Munchkin Man. And you do realize you never should have used the term 'munchkin'. It's going to stick like glue now."

"If it does, it'll be a real shame because that would mean you'd lose out on the best sex - and best sex partner - you've ever had."

"Nah, you'd break after five minutes without this stud. You're hooked on me and you know it."

"But it's amazing how a word like munchkin can act like a cold shower - if you know what I mean."

"You know, Chief is a damn fine 'nickname'. Yep. Chief."

"Works for me." He grinned.

They were silent for a few comfortable minutes as they both stroked the stuffed cat. But eventually, Blair asked, "What do you suppose it all means? The whole meeting when we were kids - Deva - all of it. Do you think it's just one big coincidence?"

"I don't want to have a heart attack when you hear what I'm about to say, okay, Chief? I mean, for me, we're talking radical departure from what could be considered as normal for me."

Blair leaned away from Jim, a funny, quizzical look on his face. "Okay, what?"

"I don't think it's a coincidence at all and...neither do you. I think it's a form of predestination."

"Why, you cheater. You've already thought all about this, haven't you?"

"Already confessed to that, remember? I had plenty of time to think about Deva following your injury. The minute I connected Deva with my spirit guide, the possibilities were endless - but my ultimate conclusion was that you were right all alone. Being a sentinel is not only who I am - but it's my destiny. And I think you're supposed to be right beside me. Like a...guide." He smirked then. "Brackett was good for at least giving a name to you. My guide."

"Yeah? So what about us? Jim and Blair?"

"That's the best part. The filling and frosting. A perk that we fell for each other." He smiled tenderly. "And maybe a blessing."

Blair favored him his quirky smile, the one that generally sent Jim into pudding heaven, as he said, " _Maybe_ a blessing? Oh, I'm a blessing, all right." But then he added, more seriously, "Doesn't the idea of predestination bother you, of all people? The total absence of control that predestination infers?"

Jim had thought about it - and now had an answer for Blair. "Not really, because ultimately, we do have control - a choice. I think destiny just prepared us and protected us until it was time. But we've both had ample opportunities to chuck this whole thing, you know that. But every time, we chose to stay with it. I chose to be a Sentinel and you kept choosing to stay by my side, protecting me, teaching me - and yeah, guiding me."

Blair whistled. "Wow, I'm impressed."

"You're supposed to be. Besides, you've had to learn to slam doors in Simon's face, shoot a gun and fight. It's only fair that I learned something too." Jim shrugged, a small grin playing about his mouth. "So other than impressed, what do you actually think about my theory?"

Blair lowered his head and grinned slyly. "I like the blessing part. Always wanted to be a blessing."

"Blair," Jim warned.

"Well, I have. As for your explanation - it's as good as any."

"High praise indeed."

"Actually, I've kind of thought all of that all along. You, me, the cosmos - the time space continuum and all that. Jim and Blair - science fiction at its best." He ran one finger over the back of Jim's hand. "All this to say that yes, I believe in predestination and choice and yes, I know that seems impossible - but there it is. I think I was meant to be your guide, but I didn't have to accept it - but I did. I've chosen to remain by your side and will always choose to. But I also believe, not to sound to mushy or anything, or to appear to be quoting some goofy lyrics, but I also believe that you were meant for me."

Jim smiled down at Blair with all the gentleness and love inside of him. Blair felt his breath catch even as he moved closer to Jim and finally into his arms.

Burying his face in Blair's hair, Jim whispered, "No one else, Blair, I couldn't have been meant for anyone else but you."

***

Michael Goddard sat on the couch in his private suite and sipping a glass of Irish Mist while perusing the folder in his lap.

The file on Blair Sandburg was, indeed, very complete. He drank Coors, was apparently gay and involved with his own partner, Detective James Ellison. Now that was interesting - but couldn't really help him for the simple reason that he needed to deal with Blair now. The next item might help...seemed Blair was a cheat. Faked his anthropology dissertation for his doctorate, ended up disgraced and now a cop.

Blair Sandburg was a cop.

Goddard lifted his head and stared out the window. A cop. How could he work that to his advantage? Unsure, he went back to reading and, twenty minutes later, a plan began to form. A plan that was deceptively easy.

All he needed was the right bait - and - thanks to the file and the information about their current case, he was pretty sure he had it. He'd set up a fake meeting by using a name tied to the case. Somewhere close, yet far enough away that making someone disappear would be easy. Like the mountains just above Cascade. Only thirty five minutes away and very fitting. They could easily stand in for Yosemite.

***

Jim leaned against the side of building, tapping his foot impatiently as he looked for Sneaks, who was already thirty minutes late. He was just about to give up when his snitch jogged around the corner and into the alley. "You're late and that means no jelly donuts for you."

"Sorry, sorry," he said, arms up in surrender. "But man, this is big and I gotta be careful, you know?" He glanced around and then asked, "Where's your partner - he needs to be here."

Jim squinted down at Sneaks, catching the fast heartbeat, the furtive glances and the smell of fear and sweat. This was not like him. "You're petrified. Why?"

"It's big, man. Someone is after your partner. I don't know why, but the word is on the streets and it's weird, man, weird. Someone's been asking, deep under asking, and there's power behind it, man, big power. That's all I know. But I like your guy so I'm here."

Jim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He was about to extricate a few bills when Sneaks put out a restraining hand. "I said I liked the man. This one's on the house."

Really worried now, because Sneaks never gave anything up for free, Jim started to question him, but before he could open his mouth, Sneaks was already running in the opposite direction.

Someone with power after Blair. Every instinct told him it was Goddard.

He headed back to the station, back to Blair, uncaring about how many speed limits or laws he broke to do it.

***

"Hey, Hairboy, there's a message on your desk from Ellison. It was in Joel's box by mistake."

Blair looked over his shoulder at Henri, waved a thanks and plucked up the pink slip sitting on his blotter. As he read it, he frowned. This was weird. They'd been after some information on a small time hood named Carson in connection with a murder in Chinatown and, according to this, Jim had a lead and wanted Blair to meet him above Jenks Pass. Why the hell would Jim leave a message instead of just calling? But even as he thought it, he absently found the answer as he patted his jacket pocket and found his cell phone missing. Swell. He'd probably left it in Jim's truck and because Jim was planning on dropping the truck off for its regular tune-up, they'd come in separate vehicles.

Okay, so he'd go meet Jim. What's a thirty-five to forty minute drive in rainy weather for a case, anyway? He shrugged, crumpled the message and tossed it into the trash on his way out.

***

Blair was headed up I-19 just as Jim walked into Major Crimes.

"Jim, man, what are you doing here? Blair left twenty minutes ago to meet you."

"Brown, what are you talking about?"

"The message you called in - asking Sandburg to meet you up at Jenks Pass. You know? The Carson lead?" Brown made a knocking gesture on his head.

Expression turning to granite, Jim said tersely, "There's no lead, but, according to Sneaks, someone's after Blair." Jim looked over at Simon's office and was relieved to see him at his desk. He didn't bother to knock.

"Simon, Blair's in trouble. He's on his way to Jenks Pass, supposedly to meet me, but it's a trap and I think Goddard is behind it. I'm on my way out now, but can you get a couple of men over to Goddard's hotel?"

There was no hesitation, no questioning. Three years with Jim as a sentinel and five years total with the man as a friend was all Simon needed. He got up. "You're going nowhere without me. I'll get Brown and Connor on Goddard. Let's go."

***

The drive out of the city had been relatively traffic free, thanks to the weather, so Blair had made good time. But since hitting the mountain roads, the drive had downgraded. As he looked ahead, craning his neck over the steering wheel to see the sky, he could tell that the light drizzle would soon become a downpour. Up ahead, lightening lit the sky and he was driving right into it.

Jenks Pass was just that, a pass through the lower Cascades that narrowed as the driver passed through Jenks Park. In good weather, it was a beautiful drive - but right now, with the cliff on Blair's right, the drizzle getting heavier, and daylight being obscured by the rapidly approaching storm clouds, the drive was anything but beautiful.

He was supposed to pull off at marker 24 and he'd just passed number 23. He scanned the side of the road - and still almost missed the marker - but he didn't. He swung in, pulling completely off the road and onto one of the many park turnouts. This one was well-shaded and barely visible from the road. The surprise was the total absence of Jim's truck - and he should have been here first. On the other hand - he wasn't the only vehicle. At the far end of the turnout was a parked Mercedes.

When Blair parked, a man got out of the expensive car and, in spite of the years, in spite of the encroaching darkness, Blair recognized him.

Mickey.

***

"Did you try his cell phone?" Simon asked as he watched the rain hitting the windshield.

"You're sitting on it."

"Fuck. Okay, how much of a lead?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Double fuck."

***

Memories and emotions were scrambling around and flooding Blair's brain at the same time.

Mickey, aka Michael Goddard was here. Here. But of course, here was now, not twenty-five years ago.

Blair got out of the car. The rain pelted down on him but he ignored it.

Goddard was approaching, mud splattering up with each footfall. When he was close enough to be heard over the rain, he said, "I couldn't meet you at the hotel. I have a wife and son to think about. But I owe you this, a meeting, face-to-face. To apologize."

"So you arranged this, left a fake message?" He didn't let Goddard answer, there was no need. Instead, he asked, "How did you know about Carson?"

"I know everything there is to know about you because I made it my business to know. And I was afraid, without this little subterfuge, you wouldn't come."

"I'm here."

As they'd been talking, Goddard had been moving steadily closer, smiling, charming, in spite of the rain, the cold, looking every bit the accomplished, powerful man that he was. But Blair was watching, monitoring, and thinking he should never have gotten out of the truck.

They were only a few feet apart....

"You know, I've always felt bad about Yosemite, I want you to know that. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"I feel bad that you ran. I was rarely sober back then. Alcohol, drugs. I was a menace."

What could Blair say? It so closely mirrored his own thoughts, his own fears about his over reactions. "I'm sorry." It was lame, but it was all Blair could manage.

In spite of the weather, Goddard wasn't wearing a coat, but his hand was slipped casually into the pocket of his slacks. Smiling through the rain, he said, "My drunken state saved you twice."

The words came out so softly and heartfelt, that it took a moment for their meaning to register. And when it did, it was too late. The gun was in Goddard's hand.

***

"Can you see the markers, Jim?"

"You're kidding, right? We just passed number 20."

Jim turned the wipers to high, hit the high beams and stepped down hard on the accelerator.

***

The drizzle was now a full blown, cats and dogs type of rain. But Goddard didn't even waver, he seemed completely unaffected by the storm. In fact, he was smiling. "You were going to disappear in Yosemite, Blair. Completely disappear. And oh, how I would have consoled your mother. But between the pills and the booze, I let you get away."

"You're a fool, Goddard. I would think a man who'd seen what you did, the last time we met, would be a bit hesitant to take me on again."

Blair's voice had been soft, when he spoke, soft and easy and just mildly threatening. Goddard's eyes narrowed and Blair didn't miss how his gun hand trembled - ever so slightly. "The cat, Goddard. The cat," he hissed out. "Or maybe you thought he was a drug-induced hallucination?"

"There was **no** cat!" Goddard yelled out.

"Oh, but there was. He was black, remember? And when he started to snarl, when he rose up on his hind legs - you ran."

The tremble was stronger this time, but not yet enough for Blair to make his move.

"You came to kill me that day - but you were once again outwitted - this time by a cat. A stuffed cat chased you off." He paused before adding with menace, "I wonder what it'll be this time?"

Blair waited, letting his words do their work, planting the seeds of doubt and fear. He was rewarded a moment later when a bolt of lightening lit up the sky overhead, its brightness striking every corner of the turnout. Shaking like a leaf, Goddard looked up - and Blair jumped him.

Thunder followed the lightening and the rain became even more fierce as the two men fought, bodies wrestling, one clumsy in his overcoat, the other freer in just a shirt, but both soaked, the water weighing them down. They hit the ground, rolled in the now thick mud, fists flying, fingers grappling for any hold they could find. Blair tried to reach his gun, but wet, heavy clothing impeded each try.

Blair tried to reach his gun, but was hampered by his wet, heavy clothing.  
He figured that even though he was the younger one, and now a trained cop, Goddard was 6'5, 220 pounds and in excellent physical shape. It was anyone's fight to win or lose.

The mud, the pouring rain, all worked against them both but at least Blair had managed to knock Goddard's gun out of his hand. It was now nestled in the mud a few inches away. Unfortunately, Goddard spotted it and lunged for it, but Blair grappled, pulled, managed to land one blow to the side of Goddard's face, but it wasn't enough - Goddard had the gun, his fingers wrapped around the barrel.

Galvanized by the feel of the weapon, Goddard planted a devastating kick to Blair's chest. As Blair fell backward, Goddard crawled away and got to his feet.

Reeling with the pain, Blair nevertheless struggled to one knee, lifting his head in time to see Goddard, gun pointed straight at him.

They were both near the cliff's edge, but Goddard was far closer. Eyes alight with triumph, he started to squeeze the trigger....

***

The truck careened around the bend and, just as Jim regained control of the vehicle, he spotted marker 24 just a ahead. At the same moment, another bolt of lightening lit up the sky, revealing two men covered in mud, one on his knees, the other, a few feet away and holding a gun.

Jim was too far away, they'd never get to Blair in time.

***

Blair heard it first. The growl. It was deep-throated and menacing. He was seconds from death but he still turned his head toward the sound - and spotted a dark shape just behind and slightly to Goddard's right, where the woods met the turnout.

The growl sounded again, closer now and, this time, Goddard heard it too, but his finger was squeezing....

***

The truck skidded into the curve, Jim fighting the skid, the rear end sliding in the opposite direction....

***

There was nothing Blair could do. There was another flash of lightening and with it, the huge mass seemed to detach itself from the woods and fly through the air, streaking towards Goddard, who, shocked, turned to meet it....

***

The truck skidded into the turnout, coming to rest sideways against the Volvo - but before Jim or Simon could move, a flash of lightening illuminated the whole turnout, allowing them to witness the impossible....

***

The large grey and white mass of fur hit Goddard in the chest - hard - and both man and beast went hurtling over the cliff.

Goddard's scream was drowned out by a huge clap of thunder.

***

Lights swirling, blinking in his eyes as men moved around the turnout, measuring, snapping pictures, questioning, answering, explaining.

Blair pulled the blanket closer around him.

He was sitting on the edge of the open ambulance, the medics having finished with him moments before. He now sported a few bandages for cuts but he wasn't feeling anything - yet. He watched the rescue efforts but knew they'd be bringing up nothing but a dead body.

Jim and Simon were still explaining, shaking their heads and gesturing toward the cliff. Blair just shook his head. After all, why the big fuss? Goddard was dead, killed by a wolf - no big deal, right? Right.

So what if, coincidentally, the wolf looked a hell of a lot like the one in their vision at the fountain? Or the one in Jim's temple vision? And so what if, against all odds, it attacked at all - and only Goddard - just as the man was about to shoot Blair? Coincidence and nothing more. Except - of course - no wolf would be found at the bottom with Goddard. Nope. No wolf.

Jim had apparently given up explaining because he was now walking toward Blair, head down, shaking it back and forth. When he reached the ambulance, Blair held out a hand and Jim took it, oblivious of the men and women around them.

"There's no animal down there, Chief. None."

"Of course not. But you did see it, right?"

"Simon and I both saw a grey wolf launch itself at Goddard and then they both went over."

"But no sign of it now." It wasn't a question but a statement.

"Oh, there's plenty of evidence to substantiate your story, Chief. The gun is still in Goddard's hand, his shirt is ripped to shreds and the marks on his chest and neck are the claws and teeth of an animal. Plus - there's fur on his clothes and surrounding area - just no actual wolf."

Blair nodded. He wasn't hearing anything he hadn't been expecting - although - the news of fur was good. But still.

"So no wolf and the dead man is a famous and powerful person. Could be that I'm in big trouble," he said thoughtfully.

"Chief, think about it," Jim suggested with a smile.

"I'm waterlogged, think for me."

Jim sat down next to his partner, hands still clasped but now tucked under the blanket. "It's obvious to everyone that there was an animal, plus Simon and I make pretty good eye-witnesses. We saw Goddard with the gun on you, we saw the wolf attack him and we saw them both go over. And hello?" He knocked lightly on Blair's head. "Animal bites and scratches, okay? No, you're not in trouble. This is open and shut."

"Open and shut. Right." Blair squeezed Jim's hand under the blanket and said, "He told me that he had been planning to kill me in Yosemite as well as the day he showed up after we moved. Poor mom."

Jim gazed at his partner with wonder. Poor mom? Poor _mom_? Typical Sandburg. "You know, you're one unbelievably crazy man, Chief."

"Jim, you don't get it. There's no way to hide what really happened back then. She's going to know now."

"Jesus, Sandburg, the motherfucker tries to kill you no less than three times and you're worried about Naomi finding out what a dirt bag he was? I'm going to have to get you to a shrink."

"Been there, done that. Didn't help or haven't you noticed?"

"Very funny, Shecky, very funny."

Simon interrupted any further discussion by joining them. He looked frazzled and clearly exasperated. "The mess you two get me into. I think it might be time to retire. Buy a farm somewhere far away - with no Sentinels in sight."

"Like you'd know, Simon?"

"Sandburg, shut up."

"Yes, sir."

"Jim, consider this my final order before I move to that farm. Go home, stay home. Take the phone off the hook, don't answer the door. I'll take care of this mess, the media, the Chief, and the Commissioner. Sometime tomorrow, Martin will show up to retrieve your reports. Any questions?"

Blair couldn't resist. "So we can open the door for Martin?"

"Jim, stick your partner in a hot shower and don't let him out until he shrinks up enough to slide down the drain. Understood?"

Jim shrugged. "Won't take all that long. Twenty minutes, tops."

There were a great many things Blair could have done, or said. But he didn't. Instead, he let his middle finger, the one enclosed in Jim Ellison's hand, do it for him. He used it to rub slowly and erotically around Jim's palm as he whispered sentinel-soft, "Not a chance in hell, man."

"Fuck."

"Did you say something, Jim?" Simon demanded.

"Who me? Nope, not a thing."

"Good. So go. Now."

The two men went.

***

The hot shower was indeed a good idea and, while Blair really wanted to punish Jim for the twenty minute shrinking remark, he wanted him in the shower even more. Besides, Jim was doing a great job of falling for the 'officer wounded in the line of duty' shit and was, even now, slowly and deliciously soaping Blair down after giving him the most erotic shampoo job ever - on his incredibly muddy hair. Yep, Blair felt pretty darn good.

Revenge might be sweet, but a shower with Jim was sweeter.

Ah, seemed as though the 'washing Blair off' part was down because, at that particular moment, Jim's hands were pulling insistently at him and he ended up with his back to Jim's chest. Blair could feel Jim's hardness teasing his ass and, given the nature of the day and the near miss, it wasn't a surprise that their lovemaking happened hard and fast, Jim slipped in easily but then started thrusting hard, holding fast with one arm wrapped tightly around Blair's waist, the other enthusiastically pumping Blair's cock. Blair felt almost separate from his body as he let his head drop back against shoulder. At least he had the presence of mind to use Jim's thighs as a way of anchoring himself. Blair came first, with a sharp, jerking orgasm, and Jim, after only a few more fast thrusts, came with Blair's name on his lips.

Keeping his hold on Blair, Jim eased them gently to the floor of the shower, his back against wall, knees up and Blair between them, still resting against him. The water was still warm enough to keep them right where they were, eyes closed as they enjoyed the water, each other, and a moment of peace.

***

The water finally went cold and, with the loss of warmth, Blair could feel the hardness of the shower floor. He moved first, a bit stiffly, but eventually helped by Jim. They got to their feet, stepped out and took turns toweling each other off. In their robes, they left the humidity of the bathroom for the warmth of the loft. Neither were hungry so, arms around each other, they head upstairs to warm bed.

The rain at Jenks Pass had finally reached Cascade shortly after their arrival home and now, tucked under the covers, they listened to it as it hit the skylight in a soothing pattern.

Blair felt comfortable now, but he knew he'd be sore in the morning. Jim kissed his temple and said, "I'll give you a good massage tomorrow. You'll need it."

"I won't turn you down," Blair said with a grin.

"Good. In the meantime, do we want to talk about the wolf?"

"I don’t know, do we?"

Jim rolled Blair on top of him and, as Blair settled in, Jim answered, "I think we probably should."

"Man, this is new. Jim Ellison recommending that we talk about something? Wonders never cease."

"Yeah, well, this is the first time you haven't wanted to talk about something sentinel related. Talk about wonders never ceasing."

"Hey, I didn't say I didn't want to talk - I just need time. My brain is on overload, okay? I'm just coming to terms with the fact that a man my mother loved tried to kill me more than a few times. As for the rest, well, I know that Deva was real, that for a short time, your spirit animal protected me. Maybe because my wolf was too young."

"Too young? You're kidding me, right?"

"You got a better explanation? No, I didn't think so. But obviously, based on earlier this evening, my wolf is all grown up and doing just fine, thank you very much. So I say we get some shut-eye, wake up refreshed in the morning, make mad, passionate love, sleep a bit more and, after a couple more rounds with you, I'll want to talk about it. Maybe."

"First of all, you just did a great job of talking about it and second, the whole sex thing tomorrow - talk about pressure. Oh, hell, I'm a cop and a sentinel - I can handle it."

"Jim, can you see my hand?"

"Rude, Sandburg, very rude."

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, master."

"Don't you forget it."

"As if."

***

_Portland - Spring - 1975_

Naomi stood at the kitchen window - watching her son play in the backyard of their new home. Sometimes, she felt so old even though she was only twenty-two. Michael was out of her life and yes, good riddance, but once again, she was alone.

At that moment, Blair ran into view again - and she smiled. No, not alone, she had her son. Her wonderful, beautiful son - and she wouldn't trade him for all the Michaels in the world.

When they left San Francisco all those months ago, Blair had stopped talking - and she'd begun to suspect Michael had done more than just lose his temper that one time. Afraid to ask him, to bring up anything that could hurt him further, she'd actually taken him to a professional and, while she still didn't have all the answers, he was talking. She could always ask him - but besides being afraid of the answer, Blair was starting to act like himself again, happy and chatty, playing with that new stuffed animal he'd asked for several days ago.

She suddenly smiled. She could still see him standing just inside her room, blanket trailing behind him. His expression had been so solemn and he'd looked a bit nervous as he'd asked, "can i have something? please?"

She'd been so surprised that at first, she hadn't said a word. Blair hadn't asked for a single thing since Mickey had run over Luli. Finally she'd asked him what he wanted and he'd said, "it's speshul, but i have to have it. please?"

There'd been no way to turn him down - not with him looking so serious and small - and certainly not after all he'd been through. So she'd listened, said yes, and the next day, she'd gone looking. She'd gone into several toy stores and had been despairing of ever finding it when there it had been. A stuffed jaguar. Not a panther or a leopard, but the asked-for jaguar. Blair's later squeals of delight had told her she'd done the right thing because he hadn't laughed in weeks.

Now, after a strange set back a couple of days ago, Blair seemed to be himself again. Of course, he had this strange desire to be Jimmy Olsen now, but hey, he was happy.

She watched him as he knelt on the grass, Deva - strange name for a stuffed jaguar - in front of him. He was tying a red scarf around its neck and, thanks to the open window, she could hear him chattering happily, saying how he'd help Deva, "...and 'tect you while you 'tect 'troplis."

She was still grinning and watching him when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and, keeping one eye on Blair, said, "Hello. Oh, yeah, Gretchen, I did hear about the retreat. No, I don't think I'll be going. Well, I don't really want to leave Blair... Who? Scott? He's going? Mmm, well, maybe...."

Naomi turned away from the window as she continued to talk about the retreat.

Outside, Blair stood up and, twirling around in a circle, the stuffed cat raised high above his head and newly added red 'cape' flying, he provided the air below the wings for his Superman.

End of The Boogeyman - tbc in **Fissures**

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: These three stories have violence and both Original Character deaths as well as one secondary canon character's death. There is also the death of an animal (which if I were doing these stories today, I'd have found a way to avoid - but I chose to keep it since my only intent is to correct grammar/punctuation, etc, not to significantly change the story). The primary subject matter is child abuse and can be stressful to read parts of them. The child abuse is in the form of physical and mental (not sexual). This trilogy is most definitely rated R.


End file.
